


The Brink of Pain

by AeonWing



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Emotions, Goodbye Sex, Implied/Referenced Racism, M/M, Post-Break Up, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 11:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12840210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonWing/pseuds/AeonWing
Summary: Peter and Vincent have an unpleasant talk and some unpleasant sex.





	The Brink of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed, angsty, and raw. Sums up all my emotions in a nutshell at this very moment when I realize that Pengwang is no more.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys.

The rise and swell of the loud music is crashing against Peter’s eardrums, sharp like vibrating energy seeping into every inch of him. The upbeat tone of the song- one he can’t quite recognize is a stark contrast to the melancholy that’s been building up for a while. Perhaps too long. It feels all wrong, the contrast.

 

His stomach is heavy with regret.

 

The alcohol is beginning to take effect, and the angst is starting to dull in response. Perhaps not quick enough. Peter realizes that he should have started drinking earlier, before _he_ comes home. Before their last and final farewell.

 

A mere two years ago he wouldn’t have called this home. This… building. Then again, two years ago he was still on CLG. How things change. In the blink of an eye, his family was gone- and then replaced by a new one. A new person, a new partner.

 

Scratch that, even that “new” partner will soon be a thing of the past. People come and go. Swept along by the trend of e-Sports. He knows this. He’s been around since the conception of the game. Yet it doesn’t fail to sting every time it happens.

 

The song has changed, but he still doesn’t quite recognize it. It’s just as upbeat and party-ish as the last one though, fitting for the celebration of the arrival of three new teammates. Well, _ex_ -teammates. Everyone’s having a good time.

 

Sans Peter, of course.

 

The mood of the song- is sexual at worst. The arrival of Zven and Mithy is concerning in that department- Peter’s heard all about the culture in Europe. Who knows where everyone is. Somewhere in the house, maybe some hidden corner, some spare room, with some hot girl. Some hot girl that Peter doesn’t get to experience.

 

Oh well.

 

Peter’s been sitting on the bed he’s grown too familiar with, staring at the carpeted floor that he’s become too accustomed to. All while waiting for _him_ to come back. The luggage is already packed, and the room feels eerily cold- ironic considering the mass of sweaty bodies that must be on the floor just beneath his feet.

 

A final requiem. That’s what it feels like.

 

The bottle in Peter’s hand is half empty- the floor littered with two more, and some hard liquor that he’s no longer able to identify. Perhaps it’s Vodka. Perhaps it’s some kind of rum. He doesn’t know. He’s already far gone- waiting, and waiting.

 

From the corner of his eye he can hear the doorknob shift- someone’s just outside, trying to open it. Peter pauses a moment- eyes refocusing on the knob, then the door. Everything seems to warp unnaturally; he stumbles towards the threshold. He hears a knock, then another one- softer and more timid.

 

It’s Vincent. It has to be.

 

The door swings open, and Vincent immediately stops in his tracks upon seeing that _his_ room is taken right now. There’s a look of surprise on the boy’s face that causes Peter to chuckle- almost in a twisted way, like a sense of accomplishment. Vincent’s never been able to quite read him, quite understand everything about him. Good. Some things were better left unspoken, undiscussed.

 

Part of him regrets drinking up to this point. Vincent can surely smell the alcohol off of his breath, so much so that Peter wonders if he’ll be taken seriously.

 

Something about this whole scene is ironic. He’s seen it before. Two years ago, to be exact. He’s seen this exact picture, this exact chapter of his life, on a different team, a different roster, a different Peter. And now he has to see it all over again.

 

Vincent looks… handsome. As he always does, with his cute little face, his innocent little smile, his shy demeanor. Those are qualities Peter never thought he’d have to relinquish- as if he thought that Vincent would be his always. His forever. Of course, it makes no sense. An empty promise, a broken vow. Just like that one time two years ago.

 

Always like that.

 

Something about being enemies now. Something about being on different teams, going separate ways. Something about cruel irony. Last time it was Peter who broke that- being sent to this house, this team, watching as Zaq stayed with the team that Peter once considered his family. How ironic that it’s now Vincent who goes there.

 

To CLG.

 

Vincent’s wearing his TSM T-Shirt. It’s something that makes Peter increasingly uneasy- a touch of anger. He doesn’t have the right to feel that way either, it’s not like he’s staying on this team either. But it still stings to see his ex-boyfriend still wear the badge of pride that is no longer his to wear.

 

For a split second there’s something else in Vincent’s eyes. It’s so easy to read, he understands Vincent like the back of his hand. It’s feigned composure and strength. His dark eyes may show some semblance of control, but Peter knows it’s hardly the true Vincent. Vincent isn’t someone who responds to the challenge that Peter gives him.

 

Subservient. He’s always been submissive.

 

Will he finally bare his fangs this time? On their last night together? On their farewell?

 

“Leaving already?” Peter finally asks, his voice eerily calm.

 

Vincent is taken aback for a moment. The calm demeanor must have surprised him. “I have to pack. I see you’ve already done so.”

 

“Of course, you do,” Peter smirks, shaking his head and stifling a laugh. It’s mocking, even if he doesn’t intend it to be. Vincent frowns at that, stepping forward to try to enter his room- but Peter doesn’t let him.

 

“Peter… Move,” Vincent says hoarsely, dutifully avoiding eye contact. He tries to conceal it, but the anger in his voice is unmistakable.

 

“No,” Peter chuckles. “Not yet.”

 

“Cut the crap Peter,” Vincent says, his voice finding some edge this time. If he doesn’t fight this time, he won’t get a next time. “This is _my_ room.”

 

“And so what?” Peter’s eyes darken. “What are you going to do?”

 

To his surprise, Vincent meets his challenge, his dark eyes filling with anger. “Just fuck off Peter. You’re really a dick, you know that?”

 

Words he never expected to hear out of his ex-boyfriend. Peter relents, and Vincent manages to slip by him and into the room. The ice-cold beer is clutched in his hand, so tight that he fears any increase in pressure will cause the glass to crack. So tight that he wonders how much more he can go and keep it all inside.

 

This isn’t the Vincent he remembers and knows. But then again, Peter said the same thing about Zaq. Of fucking course.

 

“Wow, you’re kind of pissy today,” Peter remarks, sucking in a breath to keep the beast at bay. He suddenly doesn’t want to be here. In front of Vincent. This farewell would be anything but pleasant, and he’s already resigned himself to that fact.

 

But it has to be done.

 

“I’m pissy?” Vincent scoffs, shaking his head. “You just didn’t know, did you? You never knew anything.”

 

“Excuse me?” Peter’s lips part in stupor, somewhere between shock and pleasant surprise. “Vincent, hey Vincent!” He growls, an angry hand finding its way on the boy’s shoulder when he doesn’t receive a response. “Look at me.”

 

Part of him realizes what he’s doing is wrong. Vincent has every right to turn down his offer for a conversation. But like before, he stubbornly refuses to allow it. If Vincent wants to stay silent, he would have. But instead, he fought back.

Like a petulant child.

 

Finally, Vincent turns around, the mix of anger and sorrow unmissable. “What, Peter. What?”

 

“You know what the fuck I want,” Peter growls. “Last day. Make it count."

 

Peter’s eyes study Vincent again, and he finds a moment of identification and clarity in the boy’s eyes. The shimmer he recognizes from months ago. And then it’s all gone in a flash. Long enough however, for Peter to receive all the information he had ever needed.

 

“Talk to me Vincent,” he presses again, grimacing when Vincent pushes his hand away from his shoulder.

 

Vincent shakes his head, his lips a tight line. “I’m not doing this now Peter. I’m not going to have this fucking talk with you. What’s done is done.”

 

“What’s done is done? Really, what’s done is done?” Peter repeats, laughing dryly at the banal response. “Does it all mean nothing to you? Is that it? Is that why you asked to leave? To that shit hole of a team?” He almost spits out the words.

 

“That… Is none of your business,” Vincent sounds angry. “What I do from now on is none of your business. So just leave me alone.”

 

That stings.

 

“What… Fuck you Vincent! You’re actually a piece of shit, you know that?” Peter grimaces. “What you do is none of my business? You’d be nothing without me, you know that?” Vincent doesn’t have the right to speak to him like that. Not after everything. His tenure on TSM, from rookie to three time champion. No right to be pretentious, no right to talk big.

 

“I owe you nothing,” Vincent snaps. “You know- when you left this team I wondered if this was fate. After half a year you just drop me like that. How was it- with her? With Bonnie?” Vincent takes a step forward, rather confident in his case. “Screwing her while not even acknowledging me? You- You just make people miserable everywhere you fucking go.”

 

“You… You just,” Peter winces in pain. The words cut deep because he knows they’re true. “You just called me cancerous. After everything we did together you just?”

 

“Key word, _did,_ ” Vincent scowls. “You’re months late, if you haven’t realized.” His mouth twists into a disgusted frown.

 

“You don’t care, do you?” Peter spits back. “Look at you now. Went from some shitter in challenger series who lucked out to end up on an LCS team to three-time champion. Guess they leave you when they don’t need you anymore.”

 

“I. Owe. You. Nothing.” Vincent reiterates, crossing his arms. “Now get out of my room.”

 

To which Peter shakes his head and almost loses his balance in ironic laughter. “What? The room that we used to share?” He continues to chuckle, it almost sounds crazy. “The same fucking bed I screwed you on?”

 

He pauses, their eyes meeting for a second when Peter realizes what he’s about to say next. Words he never thought he’d say out loud. Fear of acknowledgement. It’s silly really, but what harm can it do now? He grits his teeth.

 

“The same bed you fucking screwed Stixxay on?!” He spits, shaking his head.

 

Vincent freezes on the spot upon hearing those words. What was heated rage before is quickly being replaced with deadly chill, deeply unsettling. They’ve never spoken about it- no need to. Somewhere deep inside, Peter hoped that he’d never have to bring it up.

 

How ironic that it’s he that would do it.

Always him.

 

“Don’t… Don’t act like you didn’t know,” Vincent huffs. “And don’t pretend like we were still dating.” He presses again, but the twinge of guilt in his voice is unmistakable. "We went separate ways months ago. This is just the aftermath."

 

“You know, I thought we could at least stay friends,” Peter says, venom on his tongue. “But what does it become? Endless posing for the cameras and then you just ignore me when they’re off?!” He reaches forward, his hand instinctively latching on Vincent’s so very thin wrist. It must have shocked Vincent.

 

“And while you’re pretending you still give a fuck about me you go and find someone else?” Peter adds, his voice unwavering. “Of all people, _Stixxay?!”_

 

Peter acknowledges that he sounds ridiculous, like a stubborn child. When Vincent removes his hand from his wrist, there’s nothing tender, nothing soft about it.

 

“I’m not the one in the wrong,” Vincent finally speaks, his eyes burning holes through Peter when a healthy distance is achieved. “Why is it all my fault. Every fucking time you just blame everything on me. So why is it that you got to screw Bonnie and ignore that I still fucking existed?” He spits. “And you have the nerve to tell me I’m the one who’s wrong?! You’re the one who fucking cheated!”

 

Peter smiles. “Yeah. Right. It’s my fault I guess. I’m toxic, I’m an asshole, and I guess I’m a cheater too,” he hisses, his gaze suddenly shifting towards the window. It’s already dark outside. Somewhere at the back of his mind, brighter memories are playing, like watching a vintage through even older lenses. Happier times. “And nothing’s changed. I’m the same asshole you fell in love with. You know, it wasn’t a lie when I told you that I loved you. And I told you that it wouldn’t work out, that I had to leave-“

 

“And I didn’t say anything,” Vincent cuts him off. “I just accepted it. But you thought we could still work. That you could screw her and have me at the same time.”

 

Vincent’s hands clench into fists. “You just thought I’d take it. Take all the shit that you always dish out. But guess what _Peter Peng_ , it doesn’t work that way. Because you’re not the only one who has needs. You’re not the only one who’s capable of being a prick.”

 

“You…” Peter’s eyes narrow into slits. “You said you loved me. That I was your first. That I was special to you.” He’s rambling now, floating somewhere between nonsensical and desperate. “And now you’re just throwing all of that away?”

 

“I threw it away a long time ago,” Vincent retorts. “And guess what, so did you!”

 

They both fall silent for a moment and for the first time Peter realizes how fast his breathing became. His eyes scan Vincent’s again and he realizes that _this_ isn’t about them. It’s never been about them. Screw Bonnie, screw Stixxay, this is before that.

 

“I did… What?”

 

Vincent hesitates, but stands firm. His eyes refocus, and he finds his ground. “I’m not your first. But you know what? That’s fine. Because my ‘first’ and your ‘first’ don’t fucking matter. See Aphromoo? You think he gives a shit anymore? No. He’s moved on too. So stop acting like a stuck up privileged child and move on. Like you moved on from me to _her.”_ He spits it out. “And like I moved on from you. So fucking what? I’m CLG now. I'm  _his_ now."

 

“Fuck you,” Peter yells, his voice coming out louder than expected. “Seriously, fuck you!”

 

They’ve had arguments before. Bad ones. Not so much as of late, no surprise considering that they’d unofficially called off their relationship, but still. Yet nothing like this. It was no big secret between the two of them that Zaq was Peter’s first. A disastrous end that to this day haunts Peter. And that is the one line he did not expect Vincent to cross.

 

It makes his stomach churn to think that it has to end this way. They’ve both fucked up their relationship so badly, there’s no recovery. No salvation. Nothing but harsh glares and even harsher words thrown at one another. His mouth tastes like bile, and he’s seriously trying to hold his anger at bay, lest it get the better of him.

 

“You… You call me the child, and yet you… you’re no better,” Peter starts, a veneer of calmness in his voice. “You’re just like him. Only that you didn’t have me kicked off my team. You just happened to screw the man who fucking replaced me. Screwed that sad excuse of an ADC. That sad excuse of _white trash?!”_ He hisses. "Is that why you joined CLG? So that you could keep screwing that piece of shit?!"

 

“Still better than screwing you,” Vincent shoots back.

 

Something about hearing those words causes Peter to snap. He takes a step forward, and then the inhibition is gone. Within the blink of an eye he makes his way across the room and slaps Vincent across the face before another word comes out.

 

They both stand frozen for a second, then Vincent looks at him, his cheek bright red from Peter’s hand. There is that look in his dark eyes that Peter knows all too well.

 

“Does that make you feel better?” Vincent finally says, taunting innocence in his voice. “Don’t you get it now? It’s over. Forget-“

 

Peter smacks him across the face again, so hard that his hand starts to hurt. He hates Vincent for what he’s saying, but he hates himself even more for what he’s doing. If this was any other day he’d have immediately apologized. However stupid it makes him look. However pathetic he sounds. But not now. His hand is still warm from slapping Vincent, and the anger doesn’t recede.

 

Vincent pauses this time, a hand instinctively rubbing his reddened cheek. He winces in pain upon contact, and Peter has to bite down on his lip to resist the temptation to say anything. His heart is racing, the rush of blood in his veins crashing through his ears.

 

“I…Peter…” Vincent murmurs. “How… You just…” And in that moment Peter recognizes something he hasn’t seen from Vincent in a long, _long_ time. A stray tear.

 

If his heart was cracked a minute ago, then it’s completely shattered now. Peter swallows, feeling the bitterness and anger seep into every vein, every capillary in his body. There’s no going back now. Not after all that.

 

Vincent is huffing, eyes tightly shut to prevent more tears from escaping. His face is flushed, and Peter can’t help but feel increasingly guilty. Finally, he recovers, slamming his hand against the night table. His eyes are filled with tears, his mouth twisted into a horrifying scowl.

 

The beginning of the end.

 

“What-What the fuck is wrong with you?” Vincent hisses, his hand still cupping his reddened cheek. “You… No… No wonder Zaq fucking left you!”

Peter lets out a humorless laugh again, like cold steel. No pulling any punches. Surely Vincent isn’t. He can’t get any angrier- those two slaps have left him empty. It’s dull, but it’s there. He merely shakes his head, Vincent’s upset expression a delicious treat.

 

“I swear to god Peter, you’re actually cancer,” Vincent hisses through tears. “You’re actually just a piece of shit who’s never grown up. If being kicked out of your own house and off a team you called family doesn’t humble you, then maybe this will. _I fucking hate you.”_

 

It still stings. Like having old wounds reopen and freshly bleed. The wounds he thought had permanently closed when the boy who stands in front of him now first walked in, over a year ago. Right here, in this very room, the first time they kissed.

 

Right _here_.

 

The modest master bedroom of the TSM house. A place both of them are soon to depart from.

 

Where they made love for the first time.

 

Peter closes his eyes, letting out a sharp sigh. The anger is finally beginning to fleet, replaced by volatile headrush. He’s even more confident in his case now.

 

“So, said everything you need to?” he starts, teasing. His voice is low, but supported, taking a step forward again. “ _Everything?”_

 

He feels the makings of a smirk find their way on his lips when Vincent tenses up. The unmistakable tenseness that reminds Peter of the last time they had sex. It’s incredibly tantalizing.

 

“Leave,” Vincent says, his voice shaky. “I don’t want you here.”

 

For a split second he freezes, because that somehow sounds harsher than all the other hurtful shit they just said. It takes him a moment though, to figure it out, what he saw in Vincent’s eyes earlier, urgency, anger, maybe even hate. But there was more. There is something Peter recognizes from a mile away. Lust.

 

“Really Vincent?” He presses. “You want me gone?”

 

Vincent shifts uneasily, involuntarily sitting on the bed. When Peter closes the distance he doesn’t budge- only the slightest shiver when the feet become inches. Peter’s staring hard, smirking when Vincent’s eyes meet his. He’s right. The lust and fervor are unmistakable.

 

He pauses to wait for Vincent to respond, to resist perhaps- but nothing comes. Slowly, he allows his hand to make its way to the skin of Vincent’s exposed neck- warm and sweaty. When he garners yet again no response, he finally closes the last bit of distance between them, his lips brushing against Vincent’s. To his surprise, he doesn’t need to move too much. Vincent is kissing him back.

 

Peter ignores it when Vincent tries to retreat from the kiss, mumbling his name. Instead he chases his lips, opening them, pushing his tongue in, so Vincent has no option but to accept it and keep kissing back. When Vincent pulls back a little nonetheless, Peter’s mouth catches, the line of his jaw. The skin of his throat tastes familiar.

 

The heat in his gut is already pooling.

 

“Peter…” Vincent starts, his voice muffled. Vincent’s eyes are dark but hazy, his gaze unfocused. Peter can feel his cock twitch in his already too tight pants. The impulse is pounding.

 

“Peter, this isn’t happening,” Vincent says hoarsely, a twinge of guilt and regret in his voice. “You know this isn’t.”

 

“Is it?” Peter smirks, letting a hand slip in between Vincent’s thighs- which part far too easily. Checkmate. He has Vincent in the palm of his hand again. “Is it really a problem?”

 

The boy shuffles uneasily, shaking his head when Peter’s hand moves further inward. He mutters a soft ‘no’ but his voice breaks- incoherent whimpers when Peter’s lips grind against his again. Carefully, Peter slides his hand even further, until he’s practically palming Vincent’s cock through the thin material.

 

Vincent’s already hard.

 

“Well?” Peter adds, relenting. There’s a moment of calmness that returns to Vincent when Peter’s hands are away from him- but his face says a different story.

 

“This isn’t happening,” Vincent repeats himself, biting down on his lip when Peter’s hands make their way onto his thin frame again. The heat is becoming overbearing, causing Peter to lick his lips at the prospect. It’s been months. It’s not that Bonnie isn’t good- but it’s not the same.

 

It’s not like _this._

 

“It’s not.” Peter agrees, smirking into the kiss as Vincent tangles his fingers in his hair, pulling him in deeper, his tongue finally sliding into Peter’s mouth.

 

It’s not tender, it’s not sweet. Those times are long gone. Replaced and fueled only by the remnants of lust that linger. Vincent is right. This shouldn’t be happening. They’re not part of this team anymore. They’re both to leave today. Sooner or later, someone will check on them to escort them out of the house. But it’s a fleeting thought, something at the back of his mind when Vincent’s sprawled on the bed, with Peter hastily attempting to remove both of their clothes.

 

This is ridiculous. It’s insanity. The idea of having sex just several feet from where there’s a party, from where people he used to call his _teammates_ are. It’s so incredibly fucked up, yet somehow the prospect that they might get caught makes it that much better.

 

He’s not supposed to want this.

 

But fuck, he does. He wants it _bad._

 

Peter’s hand makes its way to the waistband of Vincent’s track pants, a teasing finger tracing the outline of the boy’s cock. Vincent shivers in response to the touch, but doesn’t resist- letting Peter pull down the material in a swift motion.

 

Vincent could have said no. He could have resisted.

 

But he doesn’t.

 

Because he wants this too.

 

“Get this over with,” Vincent says hoarsely, turning over on his stomach. The sudden view of the boy’s exposed, smooth ass is enough to send Peter into overdrive, and he much too happily obliges. Peter wastes no time in fetching the bottle of lube. It’s exactly where it was before. Where it always was. It makes him sick to his stomach when he realizes that it’s not he who has been using it for the past few months.

 

And now he’s about to fuck Vincent on the same bed he used to- on the same bed that Stixxay now does.

 

It sounds incredibly fucked up and disgusting.

 

But it doesn’t curb his appetite.

 

Vincent makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a sob as Peter roughly pushes one finger in without warning. The lube is cool, but quickly warms- to the point where it almost burns. Peter hasn’t done this in a _long_ time.

 

Vincent grumbles again when he pauses. “Hurry the fuck up Peter.”

 

To which Peter complies, adding a second finger, fully opening Vincent up this time. Normally, he would have asked for foreplay. It’s often the best part of sex. But he can’t wait. Neither of them have the luxury nor desire for it this time around. His blood is rushing, pouring through his veins like liquid fire.

 

Beginning of the end.

 

He finally moves in, the tip of his cock brushing against the ring of flesh. Vincent lets out a soft moan in response, quickly becoming a disgruntled groan when the tip finally breaches the opening. Instinct is taking over, and he presses forward, not allowing Vincent to become used to the sudden intrusion.

 

The high-pitched moan that leaves the boy’s lips must be embarrassing- but in the moment it’s the hottest thing Peter can hear. Vincent’s so tight like he always was. Even the slightest movement is gratifying. Even the slightest motion threatens to send him to the point of no return.

 

He’s done this so many times before, he knows exactly where to hit, exactly how to thrust to hit Vincent’s prostate. In moments he has Vincent moaning and screaming like a bitch in heat, ripe for the taking.

 

The rhythmic clenching and unclenching of Vincent’s ass around his cock is too much. All he can hear are the moans that are leaving the boy’s lips and the pounding of his heart in his ribcage, the rush of blood through his veins. He’s getting close.

 

Peter picks up the pace again, driving his cock into the quivering warmth and tightness of Vincent’s ass. He wishes for a split second that he could see Vincent’s face, but it’s momentarily lost in the lust of what he’s doing, when the orgasm is building in the pit of his core.

 

He’s so close.

 

Somewhere at the back of his mind he wonders why things had to turn out this way. What it would be like if they could start over. What it would be like if they don’t have to go separate ways. Memories and thoughts of happier days.

 

With Vincent.

 

Like a white, hot flame, spreading from his core, engulfing every nerve ending, every cell in his body. It’s too much. Too powerful. The pleasure that’s surging through his body is indescribable. It all starts, and ends with Vincent.

 

Always with Vincent.

 

Peter comes with a soft cry, pressing down on Vincent’s exposed skin- so hard he’s certain it’ll leave bruises, so hard that it must hurt. But it’s worth it.

 

The seconds become nearly a minute, only the slowing beat of his heart filling his ears. Vincent’s lying motionlessly, and Peter is certain that he could hear what is a muffled sob.

 

This is it.

 

He lets out a shaky breath, letting his eyes flicker to the ceiling, then outside the window, where it’s pitch dark now.

 

This is it.

 

There’s no more of them.  No more Biolift. No more Pengwang.

 

When the realization dawns on him, Peter can’t even stop to feel a semblance of pity nor regret. Because it’s all been said and done.

 

He’s going to leave him.

 

He’s leaving Vincent. For good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
